Silver and Gold
by ForeverAnimagus
Summary: For the Quidditch League FanFiction Competition. Regulus' struggles (and brilliance) during the First Wizarding War.


**Didn't get to use my prompts, sorry!**

**For the Quidditch League FanFiction Competition, of course. All rights are strictly JK Rowling's, characters, plots, spells, everything.**

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Silver and gold. Silver and gold and it was in his hand and he breathed it and he knew it and he couldn't bear it any more because this was not right and it was a whole load of not right and it was made from silver and gold and it was in his hand and breathe. This is not a time for panicking. He's got to breathe and hold on to this tiny piece of death and destruction in silver and gold because he has to do what he has to and he had to destroy this small locket of silver and gold for his sake and everybody's sake and maybe, maybe he will get out of this alive but probably not because he was lying to the dark lord, his lord and he was doing it because of silver and gold and a small snake motif which was laughing at him, he could swear, it was laughing at him and at his fate and at his stupid actions and maybe he should-

No. He had to stay on track. For him, and for others, and for Sirius, because Sirius knew what was right and what was wrong and he tried explaining it to him, but he didn't listen, because he thought that this meant more but it didn't. Sirius knew, and he tried telling him, and now he was left here with a piece of silver and gold and a snake motif which laughed at him for not listening to Sirius like he should have. He was right, Sirius. Regulus was a coward, hiding behind legacy. But he was a coward hiding behind a legacy who had a chance. He had this one chance, and he couldn't destroy it. One chance.

"Regulus."  
"Severus."  
"The dark lord is waiting."  
"I am aware."  
"Go, then."

He pushed the gigantic doors open, gulping. Snape was trying to get past his defences once more, he could feel it. At least it didn't work. He would be in a sorry state if Snape could get past his defences. If he could, then what would the man past these doors be capable of? Seeing his treason. His betrayal. This charming man past these doors, who no doubt could kill him in more ways then imaginable. This charming man who he has learnt to fear. He remembered this man when he first showed up in his house, smiling, complimenting his mother and his father and him, too, a bit. Just not Sirius. Sirius, who saw the same man Regulus was seeing now past these doors.

"Regulus. Come in."  
"My lord."  
"What do you bring to me?"  
"This." He pulled out a wand from his pocket. An arbitrary, useless wand that he filled his mind with, the wand that was everything to him, that he struggled so to achieve and he was pained for and which brought him satisfaction at the pain of its owner and at the pleasing of his lord, whose lip twitched and he could finally drop the mental act and remember just how arbitrary this wand is, and just how conceited the man who will receive it always was, willing to trust a person because they praise him for a mere second. Despicable. How could he not see it before?

"Good." Of course, they would both pretend that Voldemort did not attempt to read his mind. He because the lord did not know he knew; the lord, because he thought he didn't know. Exactly the same reason, yet so different. Different enough for him to despise the man who put his soul in a piece of silver and gold and hid it and tortured him and that snake motif that was laughing at him, leering at his useless actions, at this tiny pawn rebelling against the player, flailing to no avail for he would die and the lord will win and it was so glaringly obvious that he didn't even know why he was putting up a fight, but he had to, because Sirius wanted him to and he upset Sirius, and Sirius was compassionate and courageous and the epitome of good and Regulus was nowhere near that, though he tried, and it can never be said he did not. Never.

So he sat down. He was in Black's House in Grimmauld's place, and he was planning and researching and he tried everything. He found a way past the poison, past the tedious legilimency mind readings from the dark lord, past the various protective spells and the strict bans on horcrux books and he could see all of the answers lined up in front of him, his research perfected to the spot; a potion pattern that is found in some magical snakes' venoms; the power of a relic that is treasured; the curse from a matching soul; a magic of the demons that are unleashed and uncontrolled or tamed… he had them all listed perfectly on his page, but where would he get the poison of the snake or the relic of a fighter? Which demonic powers can he learn to unleash? And a curse from the matching soul… it was no use. He would not make it. So he sat and studied his books and calculations, looking for more ways, more sacrifices, more stories he could unleash to end this terrible one. More faiths he can destroy to change his. More pacts that he can shutter that may put an end to this tyranny that was what he joined so eagerly a mere few months before.

So he searched. He searched and he wished for a better place; a place where he was a good as his brother, and his brother would realise his potential. A place where he could use these hours of calculations to brew love potions and sweets that bring you laughter instead of for the destruction he was planning now. A place where he could make right choices and live life happily, without fear or hate or this lack of hope. A place where hope came in great pools and lakes and he could bathe in them and drown in them, rather then drown in the empty hollow that was his despair.

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**So, this was meant to be Regulus in the war. Since Regulus was not alive in the same war as Harry, I was allowed to write about the first war. I tried? This is more about his struggles, really. **


End file.
